


Santa Baby

by lookingfortherainbow



Series: Advent Calendar Fics of 2020 [6]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Banter, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Tree, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Immortal Louis, Infidelity, Louis is Santa, M/M, Magic, Magical Bond, Magical Kiss, Making Out, Mentioned Anne Cox, Mentioned Niall Horan, Mutual Pining, Niall is mentioned briefly as Harry's bf, Older Harry, Santa Kink, Santa is Louis' Dad, Snogging, harry ages louis doesnt, this happens as the story continues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:22:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27965987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookingfortherainbow/pseuds/lookingfortherainbow
Summary: “Y’know for being Santa Clause, you’re kind of a scrooge.”“Yeah, well, you’d be too, if you had to eat people’s leftover biscuits they’ve already bitten into. And drink their warm milk,” Louis retorted, crossing his arms. “Maybe if more lads came out of their rooms in tight, little pants like ‘at I wouldn’t be so cross,” Louis said off-handedly, gesturing to Harry’s black skin-tight underpants.Harry raised his eyebrows, stomach doing weird dances, because was Santa Clause--no, was Santa Clause’s son flirting with him?.Or, Louis and Harry's relationship through the years with Louis as Santa, Harry as an idiot in love, and the faulty tree holder that keeps bringing them together.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Series: Advent Calendar Fics of 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2037256
Comments: 4
Kudos: 57





	Santa Baby

**Author's Note:**

> This got away from me. It's also sort of unedited. There's some humor, some fluff, some magic, some angst, some longing, some kissing. . .lil bit of everything. Also, I feel like i might've read something similar years and years back so if this is accidentally weirdly close to another fic, it is not my intention to have copied it, and if you come across it, I'll tag the author. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

“Ow, fuck-- _ Ow!” _

Harry jolted up in his childhood bed, eyes wide open and heart pounding from hearing someone swearing in his parents’ living room. 

_ Crash! _

“Oh, you’ve got to be bloody joking!” 

Harry’s breath whooshed out of him, fear prickling under his skin. His palms were sweaty, and he looked for his phone. Someone was in the house, and he needed to call the police. A million thoughts went through his head. His room was right up against his parents, and he didn’t hear a peep from there. He prayed to every deity that they hadn’t been hurt by the intruder in the house. 

When his hands didn’t find his phone, he swore quietly to himself. He must’ve left it in the kitchen last night while he’d been making sugar biscuits with his mum. 

Heart pounding in his chest, blood rushing in his ears, he ventured out of his room. He stayed in the shadows of the hallway, but was close enough to the living room that he could see the armchair his dad always relaxed in and the side table that two of the biscuits they’d made last night were left on. His dad had only eaten half and drank half the glass of milk he’d poured for himself before they’d all gone to bed. 

That half-eaten biscuit was in between the fingertips of a man in a red suit, the glass of milk set to his lips. 

At Harry’s sudden gasp, he turned around, a youthful face with blue eyes spotting him. Milk spewed everywhere, the man coughing and wheezing, trying to recover from choking on it. 

“Mate, you--” another coughing fit began, “god, you’re supposed to be in bed!”

“Who the fuck are you?” Harry asked, eyes scanning over the Santa suit that looked way more realistic on the young lad than any Harry had seen on the old men who played Santa at photo booths during the holidays. 

Granted, this fellow was drowning in it, fit frame swimming in the velvet material. His hair wasn’t silver, but brown, swirled into a curl at the top, showing off the sharp of his jawline and the cut of his cheekbones. He had scruff on his face, instead of where a long, fake white beard should be. This man’s burglar costume was utterly ridiculous. 

“I’m Santa,” The man said, though it came out as a question. 

Harry blinked at him, still gobsmacked that this was happening. 

“Erm. . .Ho, ho, ho?” 

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, hoping that this was really only a terrible dream caused by too much of last night’s sugar cookies and eggnog. Opening them again, he saw his family’s beautiful tree toppled over on the ground.

“What’ve you done?” Harry said in a panicked tone, voice not at all quiet like before. 

He rushed forward but was stopped by the stranger. Warm hands pushed against his bare torso, and Harry was suddenly shoved back into the loveseat. 

The intruder’s face was much too close for comfort, eyes wide, features illuminated by the fallen tree’s lighting and a few of the candles that burned on the other side table. 

“Mate, can you please just go back to bed and pretend like this never happened?” 

Harry was breathing hard, stomach expanding and deflating under the grip this intruder had on him. He was much too aware of how shirtless he was, how his legs had been sprawled open from being shoved, how the man was kneeling in the vee of them. His mouth gaped, breathing harsh as he tried to find words. 

“Fuck, dad’s gonna be so mad that I woke  _ another _ one of you up,” the stranger mumbled to himself, hanging his head--and much too close to Harry’s crotch. 

“Dad? One of us? Who’s--what?” He squirmed under the hold the man had on him, completely lost as to what the hell was happening. 

Those blue eyes met his again, and the man let out a long, weary sigh, proceeding to groan. 

“Look, since you’re such a curious lad, I’ll break it down for you, and then you can go back to bed and let me finish my dumb job, alright? My dad is Santa Clause, I’m his son, Louis Clause, and you, Curly, are making me starting up the family business again, for my ill father, an absolute nightmare.”

“You expect me to believe, not just that Santa is real, but also that--despite never being mentioned--you’re  _ his son?” _ Harry hoarsely said. 

“Always with the, ‘no one ever mentions you’ and never with the ‘wow, you’re a sight for sore eyes’.” Louis rolled his eyes, talking to himself mostly, as Harry was gaping at him. “Stay,” he commanded Harry, pressing him further into the cushion of the loveseat as if it’d glue him there and stepping quickly to the ginormous bag on the ground that Harry now noticed. 

“This,” he said, bringing over a scroll that looked to be about a thousand years old, “is a list of all your family’s wishes.”

Taking it with shaking hands, Harry inspected what was written. Everything that had been written on all their wish lists was there, as well as a few items none of them had spoken because they’d be too expensive to even bother mentioning. 

“And these,” Louis gestured to the open bag full of presents, “are all of those items, minus the ones you already got each other. Because, you know, the elves get a bit pissy at having to make extra shit that people are already buying for each other from a Tesco or whatever.”

“Tesco is a supermarket,” Harry corrected, looking up from the presents in the ancient bag. 

“Yeah, same difference.”

“Y’know for being Santa Clause, you’re kind of a scrooge.”

“Yeah, well, you’d be too, if you had to eat people’s leftover biscuits they’ve already bitten into. And drink their warm milk,” Louis retorted, crossing his arms. “Maybe if more lads came out of their rooms in tight, little pants like ‘at I wouldn’t be so cross,” Louis said off-handedly, gesturing to Harry’s black skin-tight underpants.

Harry raised his eyebrows, stomach doing weird dances, because was Santa Clause--no, was Santa Clause’s _son_ _flirting_ with him? God, this was a night to record in his journal and divulge to Niall when they saw each other at uni again. Something told him he’d believe him. 

Louis coughed, cheeks tinged red all of a sudden. He dove into the bag, reaching his arms far into it to retrieve a box with brilliant wrapping paper and a perfect gold bow. 

Surprised to have Louis suddenly sat next to him, coat falling open to reveal a simple black t-shirt underneath, Harry placed the list down. 

“Sorry, that was inappropriate. Listen, my dad hasn’t been doing this for, like, the past three hundred years. ’S why no one believes in him anymore. He’s just recovering from some bad food poisoning that he got on his very last trip--undercooked biscuits are his stomach’s worst nightmare. After all this time, he wants to pass the business down to me. They’re some really big shoes to fill, you know? I’m a bit out of my element, here.”

“Yeah, big coat, too,” Harry mumbled. 

Louis pinched his cheek, which made a dimpled smile bloom on Harry’s face. Louis’ own face lit up in surprise at it. “Ah, cheeky lil’ blighter.”

The words didn’t have an ounce of irritation to them, quite the opposite. Instead, Harry felt his skin warm from his face to his toes, his stomach still burning from where Louis had seemed to place invisible handprints of fire on him. He wondered if it had something to do with the magic the Clauses possessed. 

“So, your dad isn’t dying?”

“Nah, we’re immortal.”

“Are you always going to look like this, then?”

“Yeah, we stay the age we were manifested into the physical with. My parents chose a twenty-three year old son for some reason. Why? D’you have a problem with how I look, Harry?”

“No! I mean, no, I like you the way you are,” Harry smiled, bashfully, preening at the way Louis already knew his name. 

“I knew there was a reason you were put on the extra-nice list.”

Harry's eyes grew wide. “I didn’t even know that existed.”

“‘Course you didn’t. No one does. Except for you, now,” Louis winked at him. “Which is why you got an extra special gift that you couldn’t possibly get anywhere else in the world.”

He shook the box in his hand, and Harry reached for it. 

“Aht!” Louis stopped him, hand pressing him back into the loveseat. “Nice boys are not to open their presents  _ before _ Christmas morning. C’mon, Harry, you  _ know _ this,” He chastised him, eyes serious. 

Pouting, Harry sighed through his nose, looking at Louis through his curls. “Couldn't you make an exception for me? You did wake me up with your swearing, after all. I was scared half to death.”

“‘M sorry about that, love,” Louis rasped, voice genuine. He leaned in close, little smile on his lips before bopping Harry’s nose. “But rules are rules.”

Pulling away, he put the present on the tree skirt. Harry watched him as he righted the tree with precision. He admired his nimble moves.

“Come along, then. I have a lot more houses left after yours, darling, and I can’t let you distract me any further,” he said, taking Harry’s hand and tugging him from the loveseat. 

Harry followed him wordlessly through the hall, into his bedroom. Louis pulled back the covers, and Harry let himself be maneuvered under them. 

“How’m I going to know this wasn’t just a dream?” Harry managed to whisper, before Louis got up and left him. 

Louis pushed his long nest of curls from his face, caressing the sleep-soft skin of his cheek. “You’ll have all your presents under the tree tomorrow.”

Harry shook his head. “That can be explained away as some ordinary mishap. I want to know, for sure, that I had this talk with you.”

For a few moments, Louis simply studied him, and Harry’s breath stuttered when a delicate fingertip traced the pout of his lips. “Oh, how I want to do such naughty things to such a nice lad.”

As if in slow-motion, he leaned down, pressing his lips to Harry’s, sparks in between where they were touching prickling Harry’s lips in a way that made his whole body tingle. This was no ordinary kiss, Harry knew that by the way that Louis’ lips caused him to feel like he was melting, hot with a warmth that spread like molasses and made his limbs feel like jelly, electric sparks shortageing throughout his nerves. 

Harry dared to open his mouth, getting a too-short taste of Louis’ bottom lip just as he was sliding away. It made him whimper, because he’d never tasted anything as good. It was as if his mouth was suddenly filled with every sweet tasting candy that ever existed, flavors that Harry had never even had in his mouth before dancing on his taste buds that made sense in a way that he never dreamed could. 

When Louis tucked the blankets up around his shoulders, he gave Harry one last longing look before stepping to the door. “Now, go to sleep, angel. . .you’ve always been such a sweet sleeper.”

At those soft words, Harry fell into a deep, magical sleep. 

He was not awake to see how Louis turned around to see that Anne was gaping in the hall at him, having woken up to get water, and frozen in her steps at the sight of Harry kissing a strange man. He didn’t see how Louis quickly got her a glass of water and sent her back to her room, finger on his lips, eyes crinkling goodnaturedly as she obeyed his little prods and pushes. He didn’t see how Louis sat on the love seat, finally alone, pressing his fingers to his lips and closing his eyes, as if to solidify the feeling of their kiss in his memory. 

What he did see, the next morning, were all the presents on the list he’d been shown the night before and then some. What he did see was the camera he’d been hoping and praying for for months with installments on it that weren’t even mentioned on the site he’d seen it listed on. What he did see but didn’t push, was Anne looking at him inquisitively, like she knew something that should be kept a secret as well. 

*

It was four years later, Harry a happy owner of a bakery he’d just opened a few months before and in a year-long relationship with Niall, that he finally saw Louis again. 

_ “Louis?”  _ Harry gasped, hastily wiping the sleep from his eyes. 

The man in the now-fitted red suit turned around, looking just as youthful as before, though Harry noticed he’d let his beard grow longer, covering more skin than before. 

“You’ve got to get better tree stands, Harry. It’s against some magic, ancient Santa code to wake up the people you’re gifting presents with. But I can’t abide by it when your dumb tree keeps falling.”

Harry let out a relieved laugh, realizing he may have been holding his breath for all these years, waiting to see Louis again. The man was standing with his hands on his hips before a fallen tree, ornaments scattered around his heavy boots. 

“God, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” he breathed. 

“Oh, sure,  _ now _ you say it. After  _ four years. _ I expected more from you,” Louis bantered, taking off his hat. 

“So, you’ve been counting, too?” Harry asked, wondering if Louis had thought about their first meeting every waking moment like he’d done over the years. 

He walked forward, reveling in the smell of Louis, lips tingling with the memory of that magical kiss they‘d shared--eager, hungry, desperate for more. 

“Only every day that passed,” Louis admitted, voice soft and broken in a way Harry had never heard it. “Only every night. . .watched--watched you. . .Erm, I was so proud of you for buying your own little shop.”

Harry was jolted out of the excitement that had covered his body in goosebumps, anxiety taking hold. Niall slept in their shared bed now. Had been for nine months. This flat Louis was standing in was one they rented together. Was that look of dread and sorrow in Louis’ stormy eyes because of what they’d done together? That recurring feeling, like he’d been betraying Louis by getting into an actual relationship with Niall, came back in a flood of regret and guilt. 

“Yeah? I’ve gotten better at baking. Have you tried the biscuits yet?” Harry asked, trying to shove away the feral urge to pull Louis close.

“Funny that. . .erm, I’m on a bit of a health kick. Helps that I don’t have much of an appetite lately.”

“But you’re going to try them, aren’t you?” Harry asked, picking up the china plate that was holding three gingerbread biscuits all with different expressions. Harry’d made them with Louis’ humor in mind. 

Offering it to Louis like it was a token of apology, a way to smooth things over, a way of begging for forgiveness for the fact he’d settled for Niall instead of agonizing over a man only talked about in colorful children’s books, Harry gave him a wobbly smile. Louis looked at him in understanding, knowing what those biscuits that were being held up in front of his face really meant. 

“The first night you settled into bed with him, I nearly set his gifts on fire. Nearly tore my own coat and trousers to shreds. ‘Cause, see, that--that sight tore my own heart apart,” Louis spoke, voice breaking here and there. 

Harry was shaking his head, eyes glossing over with tears. Louis took the cookie plate from his hands, set it down on the coffee table. With such care it made Harry want to burst into tears, he took Harry’s trembling hands into his own. 

“It’s selfish of me. Watching you with him, I kept thinking, ‘that should be me, doing all those things with you, should be me celebrating the holidays, trimming the tree, watching you make festive pastries for your customers. After all, I know best how to do it, all this celebratory rubbish’. But Harry you’re happy, and that’s what’s most important.”

“No, no, Louis. You can’t think that I haven’t wondered about you every second. Every gift each year has made me ache, because it means just the night before you were a wall away, where I could’ve seen you once more had I just woken up. Where I could’ve had one more kiss.”

“I’m afraid that was your first and last kiss with me, Curly,” Louis said, running his hands through Harry’s bed hair. 

He swiped away a tear that dropped from his eye, before placing kisses on each of Harry’s knuckles. At the touch of his lips, Harry’s whole body jolted with overwhelming sensations that trickled through him. Little sparks spread, making him gasp, feeling like his blood was filled with orbs of glowing heat. This was what he’d been missing in his relationship with Niall, this was what his body had longed for all these years. That special something that only Louis could give him. 

In a desperate move, he pulled Louis to him, arms wrapping around him so tight he wouldn’t be able to go, hands gripping the soft velvet of his coat, wishing he could pull Louis fully into him until none of his own body was left. Only when Louis’ soft hands palmed at his bare back, feeling out the muscles there, the line of his shifting shoulder blades, did Harry breathe a shaky breath. 

“Kiss me, please, please, like last time.”

“Afraid if I do I won’t be able to stop,” Louis croaked into the soft skin of his shoulder.

“Then don’t. Kiss me and don’t stop, don’t want you to. Could kiss you forever, please, oh god,” Harry begged, hands so desperate they were moving of their own accord, tearing Louis’ still very large coat off, tugging frustratedly at the collar of his t-shirt underneath, whimpering as the force of his want shoved his body into Louis’, making them fall onto the loveseat that Harry had taken from his parents’ home before moving into his own, unable to let it go. 

Panting, Harry spread his legs to accommodate the meat of Louis’s thighs under him, straddling him and running a hand desperately up under that stubborn shirt of his. Stilled by the sudden grip Louis had on his wrist, Harry looked up. 

“You’ve been on the extra-nice list all these years, Harry. If you do this, I can’t let you have all the gifts I brought. In fact, already what you’re doing is grounds for storing them away back at the North Pole until next year,” Louis warned, looking thirsty with the way he was staring up at Harry, licking his lips, eyes so wet and wide in the glow of the colorful Christmas lights.

Harry could tell he was holding on to his reservations by a thread. 

“Don’t care,” Harry breathed, arching his back and pressing his hardening cock into the half-hard erection beneath those velvet trousers. “If I knew having you would be my consequence, I would’ve been naughty a long time ago.”

That was it for Louis, the man surging up with vigor, pulling Harry down to kiss him hard and thorough. The sounds that erupted from Harry’s throat at the feeling of having Louis’ tongue stroking against his own were loud enough to wake his upstairs neighbors. The taste of Louis in his mouth was an explosion of all things sweet and sour, like chocolate and biscuits and truffles mixed with peppermints and candy canes and gumdrops. Louis licked at him, sucking and pulling on his lips until the delicate skin felt swollen and sore. Harry tried to keep up, but he could only surrender, body trembling with the constant sparks of electricity that burst underneath his skin, with the way lust pooled in his stomach like a chocolate fountain. With how Louis’ hands were rubbing at his naked torso, his shifting bum, Harry might just slip off of Louis’ lap, melting like hot icing over cinnamon rolls on Christmas morning. 

_ “Harry,”  _ Louis said, voice rough and stern and hands clutching his face in an attempt to get Harry to stop pushing to get to his mouth again. “ We have to stop. I can’t--this isn’t. . .”

Try as he might, Harry’s hands clutching onto Louis’ biceps weren’t enough to keep the man from sliding his jello limbs off him, gently discarding him on the unoccupied cushion of the love seat. 

He sat there, flushed and hard in his red pants, body still twitching from Louis’ magical touch. It was true, what Harry had suspected the first time they kissed. Louis wasn’t just a man, but an immortal, frozen at one age, and gifted with a mouth that tasted of everything a simple human like Harry savored, and hands that moved impossibly deftly as no other man could. Especially not Niall. 

Looking down at Harry’s debauched state, Louis rubbed a hand through the perfect swirl of hair atop his head, somehow managing to not muss it up. 

He allowed Harry to watch him right the tree, fit the gifts--even the ones he told Harry he wouldn’t give him--under it, and eat the three gingerbread biscuits with gusto. The milk, ever since that first fateful night, had been kept in a glass bottle, in a little bowl of ice. Louis drank it, his eyes on Harry. His eye contact and the bobbing of his throat was enough to keep Harry pinned to the cushion in arousal. But it was the trickle of perfect white milk dripping through the scuff of his beard that made a soft snuffle of desperation slip from his lips, his spine straightening as he made an aborted move to reach for him. Louis wiped his beard with the back of his hand. 

“The best I ever had,” he murmured, that dreadful look of sorrow in his eyes. 

Harry’s tears slipped from his eyes when Louis, back in his coat and holding his large bag, turned his back to him. His vision was blurred completely by the tears, and when he managed to scrub them away, Louis was gone. 

*

“Bloody cunt of a tree stand, y’are, y’know ‘at?” Louis swore, making an aborted kicking motion. “How come we can’t get along, huh?”

_ “Lou?” _ Harry gasped, not believing his eyes as he took in Louis’ form that hadn’t changed a single bit since 

“‘Arry, what ‘ave I told you about getting a new tree stand, I mean,  _ honestly,  _ it’s--oof!”

Colliding into him, Harry held the man so tight he was probably suffocating him. “Kept it with me on purpose, you arsehole. It was my only chance at getting another opportunity to have you in my arms.” 

He nuzzled into Louis’ coat, so soft as always, smelling of winter air, pipe tobacco, and reindeer.

_ “Oh, darling,” _ Louis sighed, and Harry felt the moment when the resistance against his love melted away. 

They stood there, embracing each other, Harry running his fingers through Louis’ hair finally. Much to his surprise, Louis hoisted him up in his arms, bringing them to the same damn loveseat, and settling them as they once had sat five years ago.

“I think you should get rid of this thing. It’s sinking under our weight.”

“Maybe it’s ‘cause of all the gingerbread biscuits you’ve eaten over the years.”

“Maybe it’s ‘cause you’ve bulked up a bit in the muscle department.”

“Maybe it’s ‘cause the weight of my love for you is too much for one little loveseat,” Harry hummed, nuzzling his face all over Louis’ t-shirt clad chest, having opened his coat moments before. 

“That was so corny I might have to leave without even giving you your gifts.”

“No!” Harry shouted, pushing himself up on the planes of Louis’ strong chest. “No more running away from me. I’ll cuff you to my bed if I have to.”

“Kinky. But I think I’d much rather be the one cuffing you,” Louis teased, circling Harry’s delicate wrists with his fingers. 

Furrowing his brows, Harry huffed. “”M not fucking around, Lou. I mean it. Me and Niall broke up shortly after you last saw me. We both agreed it was better to be friends. Neither of us were satisfied. There was that spark missing between us, you know? I think. . .well, I  _ always _ knew after that first kiss with you that no one could compare. You’ve ruined me for anyone else.” 

“Those are some strong words for someone who just woke up,” Louis breathed like a rock was sitting on his stomach. 

“We can make this work. I have my bakery business booming, and thanks to having other managers, I don’t have to be there as much as I used to. I could go home with you, Lou. Meet your parents. And the other half of the year, you can come back here. Isn’t there a--I dunno--head elf in charge that can, like, hold down all the business while you’re away?”

“Yeah, Liam’s my best man,” Louis confirmed, staring at Harry incredulously. 

“‘Kay, so put him in charge.”

“Holy shit, you’re serious about this,” Louis sat up, gripping Harry’s hips, eyes filled with passion. 

“As serious as you pretend to be about your Santa protocol,” Harry teased. “Had me convinced that first time you really cared about it.”

“All ‘at went out the window when I saw you standing in your tight, little pants,” Louis laughed, raspy, snapping the waistband of Harry’s underwear.

Harry giggled, rubbing their cheeks together, their beards tangling. He pressed a line of kisses up Louis’ neck, forgetting for a moment what the subject of their discussion was. 

Until, “Alright, love, you have a point.”

Harry jolted in his lap. “I do?”

Louis chuckled, brushing his curls back behind his ears. “When I leave, I’m leaving with you.”

“Tonight?”

“Tonight, baby.”

That night, Harry was bundled up, even in Louis’ coat, stowed away on his sleigh, feeling like a teen again. The taste of Louis’ kisses lingered and danced on his lips and tongue, and the reindeer knew how to steer themselves without Louis’ help. Which was good, considering Harry’s need to have Louis’ mouth on his lips. As well as other places. 

He got to see the world, shining in all its glory, the moon glowing above them, guiding their way. But nothing, nothing could compare to the beauty of having Louis right by his side and knowing he’d not have to go another minute without him. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to reblog the little fic post I made for this series, [click here](https://andtheywerebandmates.tumblr.com/post/636606796721717248/its-december-and-i-wanted-to-do-something)
> 
> Thank you to all who've read, commented, and left kudos! <333


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